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The Dutch Widow
by Jennifer Compton

We slept through it, we knew nothing — she said —
until they knocked on our door. The poor girl died
in her car on our front lawn. People started saying
that we couldn’t live here anymore but I told them
by the time I was ten I had seen enough dead bodies
to fill Frankston cemetery.

Volume 57 Number 2, November 2012
Cover: Marie McNeil. Thread bare: who I am and who am I. Collage with needlework on paper, 2012. A Foucaultian search for my mother. Digital montage, in collaboration, Rosalie Okely.